


Consort

by CoralFlowerNSFW (CoralFlower)



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types, The Heroes of Olympus - Rick Riordan
Genre: (both mild) - Freeform, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Autistic Nico di Angelo, Begging, Blow Jobs, Come Swallowing, Dom Nico di Angelo, Dom/sub, Implied/Referenced Sexual Trauma, Jason Grace has ADHD, Kneeling, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Nico di Angelo Holds Grudges, Octavian (Percy Jackson) is an Asshole, Orgasm Delay, Orgasm Delay/Denial, POV Jason Grace, POV Second Person, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Praise Kink, Smut, Sub Jason Grace, Touch-Averse Nico di Angelo, Verbal Humiliation, Very Very Mild, fuckfic, i just crossposted this to FA so uhh yea thats me im not stealing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-10
Updated: 2020-02-10
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:41:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22643527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CoralFlower/pseuds/CoralFlowerNSFW
Summary: dedicated to all my touch averse doms in the club. ur worthy of lovethis is smut. read the tags."You knelt for me earlier, Jason Grace. Am I wrong to think you might do it again?"
Relationships: Nico di Angelo/Jason Grace
Comments: 10
Kudos: 85





	Consort

**Author's Note:**

> this is basically an au where nico and bianca get taken out of the lotus hotel sooner and gaea doesnt happen. nico and jason are abt the same age and theyre both legal adults.
> 
> this is in 2nd person from jason's pov, so "you" means jason
> 
> yes i spent 4+ paragraphs on nico's orgasm, dont @ me
> 
> at the beginning of the fic, nico has just kicked ass in a war game he crashed after hades told him where to find camp jupiter for... reasons. if anything doesnt make sense, pretend it does
> 
> ive proofread this three times tonight so hopefully there arent any typos lol enjoy!

A smirk, crooked and dangerous, dances on the corner of di Angelo's mouth as he walks up to you in the principia after the noon war game. You-- you're honestly taken aback by the things you want to do to him, the least of which would be kissing that smirk off his face.

"Well, praetor?" he jeers, looking like a real life angel of Death. "Was that proof enough of--"

And then he falters, still holding eye contact, and you realise you've let your own expression betray a little too much hunger.

Discipline. You fix your expression, wondering at the sudden anxiety in di Angelo's eyes, the way he gulps and takes a step back.

"On second thought," he says, taking a second step back. "I'm just gonna-- go."

"Where?" you say, and you don't know why you say it, but it makes the fear in di Angelo's eyes turn brighter, easier to see.

"Away," he says, clipped and guarded. "Am I... _free_... to go?"

There's several tons of subtext in the question. You cock your head to the side with a frown, trying to figure him out, and he just gets more jittery, so you relent, leaning back in your chair and looking away from him, at your nails.

You see him relax, in your peripheral vision, though he still isn't at ease. So it's you that's putting him on edge.

"You won't stay for dinner?"

Nico di Angelo hesitates. He's afraid to say no.

"Why are-- what have I done to put you on guard?" you ask, and his eyes flit away, not towards the exits, but towards the shadows. "Of course you are free to go. But the legion could truly use your allegiance."

His eyes narrow, and you see the moment he stops holding his tongue, because a muscle in his jaw tightens.

"You mean _you_ could use a consort they can't justify kicking out," he says venomously, spitting the words as if he wishes he could spit in your face. You rear back.

"What?" you say, and di Angelo's eyes widen, like he can hear the genuine shock in your voice. His face goes straight, but you can tell behind it he's thinking hard.

"Nevermind," he says, much more quiet now. "I must have been reading too much into... I'm sorry."

"You _are_ attractive," you say honestly, not liking the way he's trying to convince himself his impression was wrong. He flinches at the words. "I am praetor, though, di Angelo. I have to be disciplined in all things, not just in battle. Were I to sink to that level of corruption, I wouldn't deserve my power. If you become an ally of New Rome, you will be no one's _consort_."

His eyes are narrowed again, but this time, he also tilts his head slightly to the side-- studying you, you realise, the way you studied him moments ago. It makes your skin feel electrified, makes your face flush.

"And if I want to be?" he murmurs, making you pay close attention to him in order to make out his words. You feel your blush deepening.

"Well-- if-- if you did find someone, you could probably--"

"If I were _your_ consort, I mean," he says, and your mouth goes dry. Your eyes widen, and you feel like you might choke on your own breath. Is he flirting? Is that what that was?

"You won't be," you assure him. "I won't force--"

"I said _if_ ," Nico purrs, taking a step forward. The smirk is slowly finding its way back to his mouth. "Would you show me that wonderful Roman discipline in the bedroom as well?"

Your mouth is open. You don't remember when exactly your jaw dropped. Nico di Angelo is stepping closer.

"I-I-- what are you saying?"

Di Angelo raises an eyebrow.

"Would you let me command you, Jason?" he asks, with a meaningful downwards glance that makes you realise you're starting to get hard. In the principia. You're in the principia and di Angelo is--

You shut your eyes, and take a deep breath. A touch to your bicep sends shivers down your spine, and your eyes snap open. You see di Angelo still smirking at you with his pretty fucking mouth and those dark eyes still completely transfixing, and his hand is reaching out towards you.

"Well?" he says.

"Yes," you whisper. "I will-- I would. If."

"If," Nico agrees, patting your cheek, and it takes all of your willpower and discipline not to lean into the touch, not to pout as his hand drops back down to his side. "And would you kneel for me, praetor?"

Oh. Your spine is made of electricity, and you don't even think as you slide out of your chair and onto your knees. It's automatic-- he's asked you to kneel, so of course--

Then your brain catches up, and you remember this is all hypothetical, and Nico was going to run away earlier when he thought you might actually, unhypothetically want him. You suck in a breath to apologise, but before you can get the words out, Nico di Angelo ruffles your hair, says "Good boy," and dissolves into shadows.

The wave of warmth caused by those words rolls slowly down your body, and you are now so hard it aches. At the same time, you're utterly aware of where you are.

Fuck.

* * *

The next time you see Nico is a few hours later, when you finally get to go home to get ready for dinner. You step into your bedroom and turn on a lamp, stretching and yawning as you take your toga off and hang it on your desk chair. Then you turn, and there he is, skulking in the shadowy corner behind your bed, making you flinch and flip your coin up into the air to press the tip of your sword up under his chin, acting fully on reflex.

By the time your sword is in your hand, he's gone, leaving nary a fluttering bedcurtain to reminisce of his presence.

"Wha--"

"You knelt for me earlier, Jason Grace," says his voice from behind you. "Am I wrong to think you might do it again?"

You turn, flipping your sword and putting the coin back in your pocket. You already have shivers.

"How did you get in here?"

"Does that matter to you?" he asks, and you nod; it's a matter of security. "Only those born of Pluto have this power, praetor. Is that answer enough?"

You nod; if he's the only one you have to worry about, then that's enough for you.

"Why-- what do you want?"

And suddenly he looks vulnerable again.

"I don't take orders," he says. "And getting touched is... not my favourite thing. I don't enjoy it."

"Then I won't touch you," you say, turning your back on him to open your bedcurtains. You didn't make your bed this morning, so the blankets are all shoved to the side. "I wasn't always praetor, di Angelo. I've taken orders, I've carried out another's will with discipline and honour. I--" you realise you sound too nervous, and stop to take a breath. You really want to convince him to take you, though. You want him. "I'm praetor now, but I still know how to be obedient."

"And what do _you_ want?" Nico asks, and you take a deep breath, turning to face him again. His face is half in shadow, but everything about him still radiates power. Your knees are getting wobbly, and you get the feeling you're going to have to start concentrating on it soon if you want to stay standing.

"If you'll have me..." you begin, and Nico steps forward into the light. You sit down on your bed to avoid kneeling again and looking too eager, and then that smirk of his is back. Your warm, tingly feeling is returning.

"Not much need to say _if_ anymore," he says, and you breathe out shakily.

"Then I want you," you say, licking your lips as you watch him take another step closer. You really want to kneel for him again. You want to drop hard to the marble floor in your bedroom as apology for not kneeling from the start, as soon as you walked in the room. You want your knees to ache as punishment for failing to show him the respect he deserves from you. "I want to take your orders and please you, do whatever it is you _do_ like."

"Show me," Nico says, so you slide off your bed to kneel again, and as soon as your knees hit the floor it's like everything else disappears, your whole world focusing down to just this room. "How do you feel?"

"Good," you breathe, and it's true.

"You'll take my orders, praetor?"

That sends a shudder down your spine. You're praetor, son of Zeus, and you're kneeling for a son of Pluto that the Lares all call Greek.

"Yes," you say regardless.

"Then hear my first order: if you stop feeling good, you will tell me, and you will tell me immediately, regardless of anything else I've told you to do," Nico says, and you nod automatically, looking up at him with awe because he's _so gorgeous_ and he was _so incredible_ on the field of Mars today, raising up dead to fight on his side. Octavian can bitch all he wants about the _infelicitous omens_ , or whatever the fuck-- you want di Angelo. On your side, that is. "Say yes if you agree."

"Yes," you repeat.

"Good," he says, running a hand through your hair, and you like the way it feels. It's grounding, like it's keeping you from floating away in your mind as he touches you and you start to get hard again. "Good boy, Jason. Do you want to keep kneeling for me?"

"Yes, sir," you say eagerly, giddy from the praise. Adding the sir feels natural.

"Why?"

You sigh contently, and explain,

"Because it's what's right, sir. It's a symbol of-- of what I've agreed to, for you, how you'll give orders and I'll obey."

"If I told you to get on the bed, would you?"

You suck in a breath, and gape up at him, just blinking and trying to wrap your head around the question for a moment. The bed.

"I'll do anything you tell me to, sir," you say breathlessly, and Nico's hand stops running through your hair to get a firm grip on it instead. A quiet groan tumbles out of your open mouth.

"Cute. Take your shirt off," he says, letting go of your hair, and you grab the back of the collar and pull it up over your head in a rush. It messes your hair up. You don't care. "Good boy."

Another rush of warmth surges through you, and you moan unashamedly, dropping your shirt somewhere off to the side.

"You like when I tell you that, don't you, praetor. You want to be good?"

"Y-yes sir," you say, voice breathy. You notice he's hard and jerk forwards before stopping yourself, hands lifting to grab onto his thighs and then flexing in the air above your lap as you remember not to touch him.

His eyebrows raise, and you bow your head to stare at the floor in embarrassment.

"What is it?" he asks. You swallow, and let your hands drop back into your lap. He tugs lightly on your hair. Your breath catches. "Look at me, Jason."

You look up at him, and take a deep breath.

"Shouldn't I-- do you want me to..." you gesture at his crotch and duck your head again, peeking up at him to see his reaction. His mouth is open, and his cheeks are dark red.

"Gods, Jason," he mutters, letting go of your hair to fumble with his belt for a moment, and then his pants are dropping and you're _hungry_ , and it's so hard to keep your hands to yourself. They keep reaching out every time you get distracted by the way his cock is tenting his underwear.

"Sir," you say, and your voice is almost a whimper with anxiety. His head snaps up from where he was looking down to get rid of his pants, and his eyes are wide, concerned.

"What is it?"

"Please can I touch you?" you beg, sitting on your hands in case he says no. "It's so hard not to, I want-- sir, you look _so good_."

His face tightens for a moment, and you see him swallow.

"No," he says, and you bite your lip, looking down and nodding.

"Yes sir," you whisper, because for some reason your voice feels weak all of a sudden. "I can't-- I think we should stop, it's really-- I can't control my hands, they keep just moving and I-- can you make them stop? Please?"

You look up at him, and his eyes are wide again. He reaches out, touches your face, and-- he wipes a tear away from your eye. You didn't realise you were crying.

"Give me your hands," he says, and you obey, sobbing in relief. He holds them firmly, securely, and they stop trying to go to his hips. "Do you want to stop?"

"No sir," you say, shaking your head and blinking the last few tears out of your eyes. "Thank you. I just-- I don't want to touch you-- I mean I do, but I don't want to because you don't like it. I don't want to ruin things."

"You haven't," he says. "Do you understand? It's okay. I'm alright."

You nod, and close your hands around his, immediately opening them when it makes him stiffen.

"Sorry," you whisper. "Sir-- sir, I'm sorry."

"It wasn't on purpose," he says. "Jason, you're good. You can hold onto me."

Tentatively, you close your hands again, and this time, Nico squeezes back encouragingly.

"Sir?" you say. "Can I-- is it fine if I suck you off now?"

His face starts reddening again, and you see him lick his lips. It makes your back feel all shivery. You wish he would kiss you.

"Just a moment," he says. "I'm going to let go for a moment, hold still."

"Yes, sir," you say, snatching your hands back to sit on them as soon as he lets go, and _then_ you sit still. He chuckles at you as he slides his boxers down. Holy fuck. You want to touch him. You need to touch him. You frown in concentration as your mouth waters at the sight of him, hard and perfect. Fuck.

"Okay, that's basically what I meant by _hold still_ anyway," he mutters, holding his hands out again and squeezing when you put your hands back under his control with relief.

"Please," you gasp, squeezing his hands tight and trying to keep yourself from leaning forwards too far. It evidently doesn't work, because Nico frowns down at you and says,

"Back up, Jason."

You nod, sitting back on your heels, not even bothering to shut your mouth. You're so distracted by him, it's impossible to think about anything else for very long. Like everything else has just been erased from your mind, replaced with wanting him, wanting to make him feel good.

"Please? _Please_."

"Give me a moment," Nico says. He looks nervous, so you try to get yourself under control and wait as patiently as you can. It's hard. You can _see_ him, hard and flushed and beautiful, and you want him in your mouth. But he doesn't like to be touched, and this-- this is probably a lot for him. You use that knowledge to control yourself, directing your thoughts back onto the subject of Nico's boundaries every time they try to focus on just Nico. ADHD has always seemed like a problem for other people even though supposedly you have it, but-- yeah, you definitely get it now. You make a mental note to be more patient with Dakota.

Nico's eyes open again, and you keep somewhat still; not completely, but your fidgeting is just fidgeting, aimless. You aren't trying to get closer to him right now.

"Alright," he says, pulling on your hands to bring you forwards, and then you sort of get it; if it's him pulling you in and guiding your movements, it's less like something you're doing to him and more like something he's in charge of. "What are you going to do if you can't breathe?"

He's stopped bringing you closer, inches away from his cock, and you're panting for it.

"Choke?" you say, taking it literally because it's kind of a stupid question and you can't think of anything else he could mean by it. "Please, sir."

"I mean if you need to stop," he says.

"I don't know, probably start floating away or something," you snap. "Gods dammit, di Angelo, just--"

He tugs you _away_ , the opposite of where you want to go, and you're surprised to hear yourself actually whimper.

"You will be patient," he says, voice stern, and you shut your eyes, too ashamed to face him. It's intense and it feels horrible, to know you messed up. "Understood?"

"Yes sir," you say, biting your lip. "I'm sorry. I'll be good. I promise."

No response, but he does slowly pull you forwards again. You let your mouth hang open, licking your lips and covering your teeth with them to make it easy. You don't open your eyes.

"Ready?"

You make an eager sound, and nod, and then-- oh--

There's something warm and blunt at your lips, making your mouth start watering again immediately. You want to surge forward, and suck hard, and hollow your cheeks around him, the way you know makes people feel good, but Nico is going slow, and you also want to let him feel good the way he likes best, however that is. You hear him breathe out shakily, and you make a small noise in response, gently squeezing one of his hands.

"Wow," he says. "Jason--" He switches to holding both of your hands in just one of his to put his other on the back of your neck. "Is it fine if I--"

You interrupt him with an emphatic moan, and he takes hold of your hair again to get better control over your movements.

"You're so good," he murmurs, and you squeeze your eyes shut tighter; you'll never get tired of hearing him say that. "So warm, good boy. On your knees for me, taking my cock so well."

You hold onto his hand even tighter, and he tightens his grip on your hair too as he starts to pick up the pace. It feels nice, to be on your knees, to have him holding onto you. You groan, and Nico curses in a language that isn't English or Latin, you don't know what it is, but the thought it might be Greek makes your head spin.

It's incredible how hot this is, how hard you are just from being ordered around by this guy who could probably kick your ass on a battlefield, who might be Greek, who about half the camp thinks is a spy.

"Open your eyes," he says, so you do. He looks so gorgeous above you, mouth open, eyes hungry as he looks down at you, not making eye contact but watching your mouth. And that's _hot_. "There's my pretty boy."

You gasp around his cock, and end up choking, tears welling at the corners of your eyes as you try to get your breath back. Nico di Angelo called you pretty. He-- he called you-- he--

Your head spins as he pulls you back, and as soon as you catch your breath, you say,

"I wanna keep going, I need--"

"Get on the bed," Nico interrupts, letting your hands go. You gape at him for a moment, not really getting it, and then he raises an eyebrow and you process his words all at once.

The bed.

"Oh," you gasp. "Yes, yes sir."

Everything feels more urgent as you scramble onto the bed, as Nico says he wants you on your stomach and your dick throbs as you obey. Is he going to fuck you? Is he going to hold your wrists down to the mattress and watch you squirm, make you beg for even the slowest pace he can stand?

"Good boy," Nico says. You can't see him very well, but you can feel the hand he puts on your ass as he says, "Lift up here, yes, like that. Good."

You take a deep breath with your head turned to the side, watching him in the corner of your eye. He reaches under your stomach, and then his fingers are undoing the button of your jeans, and you can hardly breathe. Your back is a tense, aching line and your hands are clenched into fists. You shift, putting your arms under your head to prop yourself up a bit, and then your back aches less. Nico has gone still.

"I didn't tell you to move," he says dryly, and your lips part as you let out a quiet, shaky moan. "You didn't even ask, Jason, is that how a good boy acts?"

Oh gods. Your mind is sluggish, and it takes a lot of effort to answer him.

"Mm, no sir. My back hurt."

He pulls his hand away and you curse yourself for whatever it is you said to make him stop. Then he's standing in front of you, still nude from the waist down-- combined, the two of you are wearing a whole outfit-- and you have to struggle with the impulse to scoot to the edge of the bed to finish sucking him off. He reaches out, getting a grip on your hair, and you feel relieved, because now he can catch you if you forget not to do it.

"Let's make sure you're comfortable, praetor," he says, voice sultry, and you look up at him to see a predatory look in his eyes, like he wants to take you apart just to see what's inside. You shut your eyes on reflex as a shudder runs through your body, and then open one eye to peek at him again.

Fuck. It's hot, the way he's looking at you.

"Nico," you mumble. "Touch me."

He's enjoying himself. You can tell by the way his gaze sharpens as he gives your hair a little tug and says,

"Watch it, Jason. Is that how you Romans address your superiors?"

He snickers at the look on your face and lets go of your hair, leaving you to squeeze your eyes shut and pretend his words didn't make you want to demand more from him, just to see how he handles it. He clearly doesn't consider himself Roman, not with the way he talks, but-- is he Greek? 

"I'm sorry, sir," you say. Something nudges your arm and you open your eyes to see your pillow.

"Lift up," Nico says, and he puts the pillow under your chest, cushioning you and giving you space between the mattress and your head so you don't have to twist so much to breathe. "Is that better?"

Your back isn't aching anymore.

"Yes, sir."

"What do you say?"

He's talking condescending now, and it really screws with your breathing, makes everything in you feel shaky.

"I-- thanks, thank you, sir."

"Better," he concedes, trailing his fingers down your spine as he walks towards the foot of the bed. You shudder. There's still a note of derision in his voice, like you're leagues below him in status, like he's one of those power-obsessed jerks like Octavian. His hand rests on your ass and you're still recovering from his voice as he pats you and then starts to pull your pants and underwear down.

It doesn't occur to you to feel anxious about it until the pants are at your knees, but you wonder if he likes what he sees. Does he find you as hot as you find him?

You hear him breathe in behind you, shaky and eager, and that makes you think _maybe_.

"Are you a good boy, Jason?" he asks, tracing a line down your left thigh, letting his cold fingertips drag over your skin. You swallow a mouthful of saliva.

"Yes sir," you say, and you try to make it confident, authoritative.

"Then you'll do whatever I ask?"

"Yes," you tell him, and it's all just making your head spin, the way he's going over the dynamic like this, like an underline.

"Spread your legs."

You hesitate, and then slowly open your thighs, giving Nico a better view of you. The surface of your skin feels hot, flushed, like the visible shimmer of heat over a parking lot in the summer.

"Good boy," Nico says. "Is-- can I fuck you?"

Oh fuck. Oh gods, fuck, he wants--

"U-um," you stutter out, thoughts racing and slamming into each other. You shouldn't. You want-- but you shouldn't say yes. It's risky. "I-- Nico, Octavian--"

"What about him?" Nico says, just a hint of raspiness in his voice now, and you shudder. "He isn't here."

"He likes the old ways," you explain. "The way it _meant_ something to the Ancient Romans whether a man was on top or on bottom. He thinks-- he always says-- ugh, he'd be thrilled to find out about this, he'd call it debasement, say I'm not a worthy praetor if I--"

You cut yourself off as your cock twitches, and you realise that thinking about the consequences is like turning up the dial on a stove. Your desire is simmering now like hot oil in the bottom of a pan. It'll burn you if you aren't careful.

"You like that," Nico muses, and you squeeze your eyes shut, honestly hoping he'll ask again to fuck you so you can just say yes this time. "Oh, well. You're right, we shouldn't take unnecessary risks."

He's walking back towards the head of the bed and you're slumping in disappointment, opening your mouth to tell him you don't care, that you've changed your mind, but he hooks two fingers in your cheek and pulls gently sideways-- or up, technically, since you're laying down-- to spread your lips open. Your breath catches in your throat.

"Sir?" you murmur, and you get to see him smirk as he takes his fingers out of your mouth and wipes your saliva on your cheek.

"You want to finish what you started?" he asks.

It takes you a moment to catch his meaning. Your eyes widen, and you nod, saying,

"Yes! Yes, sir, I do, please?"

He grips your hair, making your eyes slip shut for a moment, and then-- _yes_. You hollow your cheeks and tilt your head forwards, forgetting momentarily that you aren't supposed to, and then Nico's grip gets painfully tight as he yanks you backwards. You gasp, eyes flying open. His eyes are dangerous, dark and deep and oh-so-empty; it's like staring down into Tartarus until he swallows, takes a deep breath, and closes them.

"Touch yourself," he says, and your eyes widen. His voice is indecipherable now. Flat. Like a months-old half-empty 2-litre bottle of fanta.

"Are you okay?" you ask, and his hand twitches in your hair.

"You said you would be good for me, praetor," Nico reminds you, and there's an edge to his voice now that makes you shiver. It almost makes you relent, and do as he says, except his eyes are still closed and his face is pale again, with no remaining evidence of the flush you had managed to pull into his cheeks.

"You said to tell you if I stop feeling good," you say. "Haven't _you_ stopped? How can I make it better, do you even want me to?"

"No, I don't," Nico snaps, jaw clenched, teeth grit together like he's trying to hold back a torrent of things he could say to you. "You were supposed to hold still."

Shame coils in your stomach.

"I forgot," you whisper. "I just want to make you feel good, sir, you can hold me still, whatever you need to do, I was just-- I just forgot you don't want me to-- to--"

"I can't," Nico says. He lets go of your hair and you breathe in sharply, watching him wring his hands together and then move like he wants to put them in his pockets. His eyes open, and he doesn't look at you. "I-- not right now, I can't touch right now, but I still want-- I--"

He cuts himself off, and you notice the tears in his eyes.

"I'm sorry," you say, holding still so you won't startle him with a movement that looks like trying to touch him.

"It's not your fault," he mutters. "I'm just-- it's okay, I'm just being stupid and weird. I'm sorry. I thought I could handle..."

He trails off.

"I don't think it's stupid," you say. He looks at you, and you swallow thickly, choosing your words a lot more carefully now that you have his full attention. "It-- it was frustrating, but it was also really hot. Usually-- every time I've done this before, it was easy to be good. It was... different this time. It was hard. I had to pay attention a lot more to everything, it made all of it more intense."

Nico's lips are parted, and he's looking down at you in surprise.

"Really?"

"Yes," you assure him, shifting your hips to get more comfortable and noting the way he glances at your ass for a moment and then flushes pink. "It felt kind of amazing, like I had to actually work for everything. So it actually meant something every time you told me I was good. It felt really, really different, and really, really good. I've never-- it's never been that, um, overwhelming. In a good way."

He reaches out for you and stops, and you lick your lips, watching him watch your tongue.

"You liked that you couldn't touch me?"

You shrug and make a face.

"Liked it, hated it, one of those, sure. I liked the way it made me feel. And I really liked, well..." You look up at him through your eyelashes, and his throat bobs as he swallows. "...being good for you, sir."

" _Fuck_ ," Nico says, hands closing and opening again, and you're pretty sure his cock just twitched. "Keep talking."

"I liked sucking you off," you tell him. "The way you used my throat like that, like you were just getting yourself off--" your throat goes dry. He's touching himself now, eyes half lidded as he rakes his gaze across your body.

"Did I tell you to stop, praetor?"

Gods, that's hot.

"No sir," you croak, and your voice cracks. "I just-- I loved it, love your cock, I wanna let you fuck my face again."

He's staring at your lips, reaching out with his free hand like he's going to touch them. You let them part, hungry for it, but he falters, and draws his hand back.

"You look really good, Jason," he says. "I wish-- I hate being this way, I want to touch you so badly. I want to see how you react if I bite your neck while tugging on your hair, I wish I could lay with you and..."

He sighs.

"I would probably whimper, sir," you say. "But honestly, it would depend on whether you were also fucking me at the same time. Can I touch myself?"

His eyes light up with hunger, and he nods.

"Turn over," he says. "I want to see."

You turn onto your back and kick your pants the rest of the way off your shins, shoving your pillow to the side so you can lay down flat. Gross, your ass landed right in the tiny puddle of pre-cum from all Nico's stupid hot dirty talk and teasing. But it doesn't matter.

"How do you want me, sir?" you ask, and Nico's hips buck forwards in response. Oh, you're proud of that reaction.

"Slow," he says. "Show me, mm, show me how badly you want more."

Fuck. Fuck him.

You spit into your hand and bite your lip, and Nico curses as you take hold of yourself, again in that language you can't identify.

"Do you have lotion?" he asks, and you nod and point at your desk, wincing apologetically when your outstretched arm makes him flinch. He gets some lotion on his hand and then he's stroking himself faster, letting out these gorgeous little grunts with each movement that make you desperate to match his pace.

"Can I go faster," you ask, and he shakes his head, doesn't even think about it first.

"What do you call me?"

Shit.

"Sir," you say, toes curling as you tease yourself. He reaches up to hold onto the rail for the bedcurtains, leaning like he can't quite hold himself up, and-- fuck. Is he close? Is he going to come without you?

"Sir, does it... do you feel good?"

He nods, biting down hard on his lip, and you let out a harsh gasp at the look on his face.

"You're fucking gorgeous, Jason," he says. "Good boy, touching yourself for me. Go a little faster, praetor."

You groan in relief, speeding up with a careful eye on Nico to make sure it's not more than he wants to give you.

"Thank you," you say. "Sir, thank you so much, feels-- it's not enough still but it feels--"

"Don't be ungrateful," he scolds you, and your words get stuck in your throat. "Stop, I want your hands at your side until you apologise."

Your cock throbs as you obey, and your whole body arches, chasing the sensation. You have to grab the sheets to keep your hands where they belong.

"I'm sorry, sir," you say, listening to the slick sounds of Nico still touching himself.

"For?"

Your mind is blank.

"I-- please," you say. "Please let me keep going?"

He doesn't respond, and he's so hot, a divinely beautiful distraction. You shut your eyes, furrowing your brow in focus.

"I-- sorry for being rude, when you let me go faster, sir," you say, breathless. "I should've just been grateful, I won't do it again. I promise, I'll just accept what you give me--"

Nico mutters something under his breath, and you open your eyes to see him lick his lips.

"Okay, that's good enough, keep going," he says.

"Thank you, sir," you say. "Are you close?"

He shakes his head, and you sigh in relief.

"It's always-- I just have trouble getting there," he says. "It's not you, praetor, you look so hot, you're being so good for me."

"Oh," you say. Your hips buck, and you squeeze too tightly for a moment on accident. Ouch. "Thank you, sir. I feel good, can I go faster?"

He raises an eyebrow at you.

"Desperate already?" he asks. Your mouth falls open. "There's nothing wrong with that, don't be embarrassed."

The words are kind, but the tone is taunting, degrading, and despite what he's saying, it makes you feel very embarrassed. His tone says, _look at the poor desperate baby, already pleading for permission to give himself just a little more pleasure. It's okay, there's nothing wrong with it, you can't help being so needy, can you?_

You cover your face with your free hand and groan. It's humiliating. You want to deny it.

"N-no--" you pause, and peek at him. He's grinning in anticipation, and you're torn between wanting to know what opening you'll give him if you deny it (wanting him to _use_ that opening), and wanting to just be honest, admit to your desperation. "I mean, yes. Yes, sir, I need more--"

"No, you don't," Nico says. "You _want_ more. It only feels like you need it because you're such a desperate baby. Don't worry, it's hot."

You shudder. It's too much to handle, how humiliating this is (how hot it is).

"Nevermind," you say. "No, I-- I don't need it, sir, this speed is fine."

Nico's nasty smirk grows.

"Are you sure it's not too much for you, baby?" he says. "You look a little overwhelmed."

You shake your head.

"No sir, this is just right--"

"Oh?"

You nod.

"Well in that case, you might come too soon, Praetor Grace. I'm not even close yet. Slow down, there's a good boy."

You let out a shuddery breath and try not to whimper as you follow his order.

"So obedient," Nico croons. "I bet you just wish I was fucking you. I know you're lying, Jason. I know you want more. I know you're so desperate for it you can hardly think about anything else. Does it make you feel dirty, when you get turned on by the way I talk to you?"

"Sir," you breathe, bucking your hips up into empty air as his words slide down your spine. You're a little bit light-headed.

"Should I give you what you want, or make you beg for it, make you admit you're gasping for it? Are you desperate enough to beg, Jason?"

"Please," you whimper. "Please, sir. I need-- I want more? I want you to please let me go faster, can you?"

His breath hitches.

"That's not quite enough, sweet thing." And apparently that was his turn to lie, because you can see how much he loved it. His breath is coming harshly now, his face is bright red. There's no way you didn't beg well enough. "I think you need to remember how it feels when you don't have _any_ of what you want--"

"Sir--"

"Hush. Hands off, Jason. Try again."

You make a weird, desperate sobbing sound, and clench your hands into fists. Your whole body feels tingly, and the ache in your cock is unbearable.

" _Please_ ," you gasp. "Nico, please, touch me, please let me-- let me-- I'll do anything, I'll be so good for you, I'll be perfect, I'll-- I need more, Nico, need to touch myself, I have to _come_."

There are tears in your eyes now and the heat in your skin feels hot enough to burn you to ashes. It's so embarrassing to lay everything out for him like this--

"I mean sir," you add hastily, realising you forgot what to call him. But when you look up at him his eyes are wide in a good way, his hips are rocking back and forth as he jerks off.

"Okay," he says, voice sort of wrecked. "Okay, yes, you can go ahead. Pick whatever speed--"

You match his pace immediately, cursing as it curls your toes and throws your back into a flawless arch up towards the ceiling.

"No, a little slower," he says, and you whine, gripping tighter and twisting faster to make up for the loss of speed. It's still much better than before, but it's laborious. You have to work for it, have to make every movement perfect to keep your orgasm building.

"Are you close?" you ask, and this time he nods, biting his lip and looking down at you.

"Can I..." he trails off and licks his lips.

"Hm?"

"I mean, can I come on your face?"

Fuck. Yes. Yes, of course. You scoot over towards the edge of the bed to line your face up with his cock, and he hesitates before leaning forwards, getting even closer. He's inches away. You could let go of yourself and grab him instead.

"Yes," you say. "Please, sir, I want it."

He curses again. He looks wrecked, so hot, so powerful, and fuck, you brought him to this point. He's losing his steadiness, grunting out of rhythm, because of you. 

And he's going to _come_ on your _face_ , hes going to come _on you_ , and you'll get to touch him that way, you'll get to taste him and keep his scent on your skin for the rest of the night.

"Will you beg once more for me, praetor?" Nico asks, and little shivers dance up and down your spine with the deep rasping of his voice.

"C'mon," you say, "give it to me, can't wait to taste you--"

You keep your eyes open as the first rope of come lands on your skin, hot and sticky and perfectly straight across your cheeks. You struggle to keep your speed steady as you twist on the way up and swipe your thumb across the head before dragging back down-- maybe you should've gotten some lotion too, but the rubbed raw feeling is sort of doing it for you, what with the sheer intensity of everything else tonight. It's too much, but your orgasm is building anyway, relentlessly pushed on by the sound of Nico's gasps, the way his entire face twitches with the second burst of come, landing a lot messier this time, diagonal, crossing the very tip of your nose. You feel it drip and then realise that the rest is dripping too, _all_ of it's dripping, and Nico's voice is breaking around your name, and your cock is twitching as your rhythm falters, and you're so, so close--

Nico bucks his hips and the third spurt of come, a lot smaller than the other two, hits the edge of your lip before trailing down your jaw, and Nico looks completely shell-shocked as you poke your tongue out for a taste--

It's like being punched in the stomach, like everything about it was designed to make you lose your mind. The texture makes you think about kissing him, and you can perfectly imagine how his lips would feel against yours. The taste is, unironically, so good that it fucks with your head, because you've sucked dick before and it never tastes good, ever-- but maybe it's just because it's Nico's that you like it.

_(Like how you hated gin until you found out it's flavoured with juniper, which is a fun word to say, and suddenly you could stomach gin after that.)_

"Jason," Nico gasps, and you lick more of it off your lips and swallow, letting it coat your throat, and he's so beautiful, and there's a few more drops of come dripping out and sliding down his shaft, and you're coming, squeezing your eyes shut and letting everything get to you; the warmth of Nico's come on your face, the harsh rhythm of his breath above you, the softness of the sheets against your legs, the way some of his come is dripping down your neck now and you feel _so dirty_ , so used in the best way possible because Nico is saying your name again, and this time, it's reverent: _Jason_.

You open your eyes to see his hand, hovering above your face, and he gets a daring, impulsive look in his eyes as he touches your lips, just a brief, light touch, but it generates so much intimacy, making the moment profound. You feel it deep in your core, like he actually fucked you.

Your breath makes a shaky sound as you slowly lick your lips.

"Gods damn, di Angelo."

"I could say the same to you, Grace," he says. His head tips snappily to the side; "Is that your bathroom?"

"Yeah."

"Stay here, okay? I'll get something to clean you up."

 _Oh_. He's taking this _seriously_. You don't know why it surprises you; you sort of just assumed that aftercare wouldn't be very high on his list, since every time you've gotten any, it involved cuddling and lazy making out until the dynamic felt normal again.

"Okay," you say, smiling at him, and he ducks his head as he turns.

Shy. He's shy, even if it didn't always seem that way when he was in charge. He's very good at hiding it.

You hear your bathroom door, and then running water, and then he's back with a warm, damp cloth.

"Please hold still," he says, and you go statuesque, completely unmoving. "Not _dead_ still, please keep breathing."

You chuckle as he wipes your stomach off with a gentle touch, and then he moves to wipe your face off and you start to put a hand up to stop him. He stops on his own, at about the same time you stop as you remember not to touch him.

"Just, wait," you say, sitting up and hopping off your bed-- he scrambles to the side-- to check out a mirror.

"What are you doing--"

"Holy shit," you whisper, staring at your face. You lean in for a closer look, and swallow. You look debased, like-- like Octavian would be _right_. "That's so hot."

"Let me wipe you off," Nico says, but it's not an order, just a complaint.

"Okay," you say, leaning back from the mirror. "I'll be good."

"I know," Nico says, and that makes your chest feel warm. He reaches around you with the cloth, and you watch in the mirror as he wipes your face clean. He's focusing hard enough that it's very cute. You let out a happy little sigh, and smile at his reflection.

"That was fun," you murmur. "Thank you for giving me a chance to treat you well."

He flushes bright red in the mirror and pulls away.

"Well, you were good. Better than people usually are, anyway."

You smile to yourself and start tracking down your clothes. Nico interrupts you with a water bottle and makes you take a drink.

"What language were you speaking, by the way?" you ask, wiping your mouth on your arm and handing the water bottle back to him. "When you would curse?"

"Uh, probably Greek or Italian," Nico says, and you swallow. Your mouth goes dry; it was hot to think about while you were kneeling for him, but now it has you actually worried about the risk of letting him hang around camp with all his power and potential alliance with your enemies.

"So are you Greek?" you ask, cautious. You don't want to know, but... as praetor, asking is your responsibility.

Nico di Angelo grimaces, giving you all the answer you need, and your stomach drops as you reach into your pocket for your coin.

"Supposedly," he says, voice bitter as red wine, and you pause.

"Supposedly?"

He shrugs.

"That's what they told me. They also told me my sister would come back alive. They told me a lot of things, Jason Grace. Just like you have. You should be more careful with your promises."

You shiver, as Nico di Angelo turns and lays a significant glance on your pocket. You let go of your coin and pull your hand back out.

"Who's they?" you ask, trying to sound casual.

"I can't tell you."

You narrow your eyes.

"I'm beginning to reconsider my desire to form an alliance with you."

"Good for you," Nico says, and beneath the humour in his eyes, there's hurt. "I mean I truly cannot. I had to swear on the River Styx not to conspire against them before they'd let me leave."

"What does that mean?"

"If I break the promise, I die."

"You could belong here," you tell him, not really sure why you're saying it-- you just want to. You want him to know.

He snorts.

"You sound like Percy Jackson."

Something about his tone puts you on edge.

"Who's Percy Jackson?" you ask, voice tight.

"I can't tell you," he says. "You just sound like him. I don't belong here, praetor, and you know it. Someone would figure out I'm Greek, and that would be it for me."

"But--"

"Everyone on that battlefield was afraid of me except for you," Nico insists. "You're fooling yourself. I'll never belong here."

"Just stay for dinner," you say, and it almost feels like you're begging again. "See what you think. I can't promise you'll be safe, or that everyone will like you, di Angelo, but I can promise we do things differently around here. You can leave anytime you want."

"When's dinner?"

You check your watch.

"Shit," you say, with feeling. "We're late. It started a quarter of an hour ago. Let's go."

You turn on your heel and only make it a few steps before a hand on your wrist stops you.

"You sure you wanna walk?"

He's touching you. He still sounds angry, but he's touching you.

"Um," you say intelligently.

"I can get us there now," he says. "Some of your campers--"

"Legionnaires--"

"Actually, these were probatio-- they showed me the mess hall earlier. I can get us there now."

You narrow your eyes at him, intrigued. There's no trace of deception in his expression.

"Alright."

Cold. Fuck. All you know is cold, and dark, and Nico's hand around your wrist. You try to scream and the wind steals your breath away.

And then there is light, and the smell of dinner. You open your eyes to see Nico di Angelo smirking at you. The room only takes a few seconds to go silent. You get the feeling it's because everyone is confused about how the two of you just appeared atop a ceiling beam with no warning whatsoever. Nico lets go of your wrist.

"You're late, praetor," Octavian calls, and you turn to shoot him a fake smile.

"My mistake; di Angelo was demonstrating his abilities and I didn't keep proper track of the time."

Nico snorts beside you, and you turn back to him.

"How do you plan to get down?"

"Same way I got up," he says, so you shrug, and slide off the beam, hovering down to the floor.

Honestly? You think you did a damn good job hiding what you and him were actually doing just now.

Until di Angelo calls down after you,

"You might like to zip your fly, Praetor Grace."

Giggles from all over the room, great, and now Octavian is glaring at you. Flushing bright red, you zip your pants and then flip the bird up at the ceiling.

"That was quite the display," Reyna comments as you sit down, and you heave a sigh.

"He's actually the worst, Reyna, you have no idea."

"Bratty?" Octavian comments snidely, and you feel your flush deepen as he and his group of fans start laughing. "Oh, hello, di Angelo, I believe Praetor Grace's couch has room--"

"If we want to make innuendo, I must extend my compliments to him," Nico says dryly. "He's a very good praetor."

You don't think it's possible for you to flush any redder. Fuck. You still like it just as much when he calls you good, even though it's completely inappropriate right now.

"Oh, is he?" Octavian purrs.

"Don't touch me."

"I'm only feeling your shirt. Cotton?"

"Polyester," Nico snaps.

"I could shred it off you sometime, divine our future together," Octavian offers, and Nico shoots a glare at you as the augur lifts another hand, ostensibly to feel Nico's hair.

"I'm not an animal for you to sacrifice," Nico says, ducking down and teleporting two feet to the left as soon as his face passes into shadow. "I'm a son of Hades, and even the Greeks who murdered my sister were more bearable than you." He nods at you. "Jason. Let me know if you find them. Percy Jackson is mine to kill."

And then he is gone.

"Well done, Octavian," you say, stabbing your salad with your fork. "Those Greeks you hate so much? He's the best lead we've had on them since the 60s. And you just drove him away."

Octavian stretches his legs out and crosses them.

"With all due respect, praetor, you should have kept a tighter hold on him."

"He can teleport," Reyna interjects.

"Jason just didn't show him a good enough time," Octavian says, with a put-upon sigh. He turns to you. "You and I both know he wouldn't have wanted to leave if you were, well..."

He lets the implication hang in the air, and you roll your eyes.

"Finish that sentence, Octavian," Reyna says, and you remember he's insulting her too with his penetrator-supremacism. Well, that's assuming that Reyna-- okay, bad thoughts land, time for a new topic that isn't the sexual proclivities of your fellow praetor-- Octavian fucking sucks.

"Oh, I only mean that--"

"Get any older in your thinking and you'll be Greek," you interrupt. "Everyone knows Apollo bottomed."

With that, you get up from your couch and stalk out. You weren't hungry anyway.

**Author's Note:**

> sigh i feel like this is weird tbh but im posting it anyway. leave a comment if you liked it
> 
> edit 5 days after posting this: commenting on rarepair fics makes the author waaay more likely to write the pairing again in the future. just saying.


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